If the Inheritance could Embrace
by Cretha Loesing
Summary: On a day where the rain poured down and could have flooded London, a mysterious girl comes to 221B Baker Street, bringing the world's biggest puzzle to the world's greatest detective. K for implied violence/occult themes.
1. Chapter 1: Útlit

_**Intelligence is really a kind of taste: taste in ideas.  
>Susan Sontag <strong>_

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><p>It was a rainy day, the kind of day where the sky was pouring buckets, and you wondered when it would stop. No one walked the streets, even beggars and thieves hid under shelters where they could find them. However, it was somewhat remarkable that London had not been flooded in the massive downpour.<p>

In essence, it was a strange day for Holmes and Dr. Watson to meet such a character. They walked into the kitchen, Watson then Holmes to be greeted with a strange sight.

A ragged girl sat on the table, shaking uncontrollably despite the blankets wrapped around her. Her dark hair limply obscured her face. Head bowed, she tensed noticeably as both men came in. Watson quickly moved to her side and took her hand in his, counting her pulse. Her fingers were faintly blue and her knuckles were a light purple color. The girl shuddered slightly at his touch, which both men noted.

"You have hypothermia." The doctor pronounced.

The girl nodded slowly.

"Miss Hudson? Would you mind making some hot chocolate please?" Watson asked.

"Now, let's get you to a fire." Watson dragged a chair near the oven. The girl slid off the table, slowly. She stumblingly walked forward, her right hand held awkwardly at her side. Watson gently grabbed her hand.

The girl slowly, laboriously, dragged her legs into a criss-crossed position.

Ms. Hudson poured a cup of hot chocolate out of the teapot. She handed the steaming mug to the girl.

"Careful dear, it's hot."

The girl took the cup from her, seemingly unaffected by the heat.

"Well Watson?" Holmes asked.

"Her wrist is broken," Watson dead panned, "I need to splint it."

"I know." The girl said slowly. Watson and Ms. Hudson looked at her strangely. Curiosity sparkled in Holmes's eyes.

She tiredly tugged her arm away from Watson, and bent it with an audible crack.

"It's fine," She said slowly to Watson's concerned glance, "J-just nneed-d-ds ttt-t-t-t-tt-ttíma." Holmes moved behind her and comfortingly layed a hand on her shoulder.

"I believe dry clothes are in order Ms. Hudson," Holmes said suddenly, "We'll leave that to you." He motioned to Watson to follow him out.

"What was that about?" Watson asked, as soon as the door closed behind them.

Holmes shook his head, putting a finger to his lips. They walked back to their flat in silence.

"Well?" Watson asked, annoyed.

"I assume you noticed Watson, she is not an ordinary girl." Holmes said. Watson snorted.

"If you mean the circumstances she came to us, then there are worse things than being caught out in the rain." Watson told him.

"Surely you noticed the scars on her fingers;" Holmes told him, "they noticeably stood out on her skin."

"Anyone could make mistakes while cooking Holmes, she could be particularly clumsy with knives and cut herself several times." Watson argued.

"You saw for yourself Watson, those cuts could not have come from a knife." Holmes told him. Watson fell silent.

"They were also present on her arms. Her neck had faded bruises, as well as a faded black eye. She had a slight gracefulness in her movements, there was little sound in her footsteps.

"You could see the caution she regarded us all with, not to mention the fear of your touch. Her nails were carefully manicured, despite the grime. There were also no marks on her fingers from any sort of needlepoint. Her hands were soft, there was a callus on her right ring finger that indicated she wrote profusely. She also was very thin, unused to hard labor. At first it seems she would come from a wealthy family, but her gait was more wide-legged than a woman used to wearing skirts. She also did not regard us condescendingly, rather with a patience that is rare.

"Not to mention, there was a remarkable tattoo on the back of her neck." Holmes finished.

"A tattoo?" Watson questioned.

"Yes, a blue infinity sign." Holmes remarked. He turned to see Watson's surprised face.

"It's very likely she's involved in the occult." Holmes said. Watson nodded.

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><p><strong>That's all I've got for now, Hope you liked it!<strong>

**-CL**


	2. Chapter 2: Vinir

**_"Today a man discovered gold and fame, Another flew the stormy seas; Another set an unarmed world aflame, One found the germ of a disease. But what high fates my path attend for I-today-I found a friend."_**

**_Helen Barker Parker_**

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><p>Watson and Holmes walked into the kitchen, to find their mysterious visitor still sitting in the same position from last night.<p>

For a second, she could be mistaken for dead; no visible movement was shown. Then the girl lifted up her head, and Watson audibly exhaled in relief.

"Good morning." Holmes told her. The girl glanced at them over her shoulder. She opened her mouth to speak, but Ms. Hudson bustled into the room, carrying the girl's clothes in one arm.

"Oh my goodness!" Ms. Hudson exclaimed. The girl shut her mouth and turned her face away from them.

"Come with me dear, I have your clothes with me. You can dress in my room."

The girl stood, holding the blanket around her. Bare legs trembling slightly, she turned to face them, her face passive. She then followed Ms. Hudson out the door.

Watson looked over at Holmes to see him staring at the closed door intently.

"Holmes," Watson started, Holmes looked at him, "you _do_ know it is rude to stare."

"Watson, I believe that we have stumbled on the most extraordinary mystery." Holmes commented. Watson shifted awkwardly.

"That you did." Both men looked up to see the girl standing in a doorway. Holmes smiled.

"It appears so." He said.

The girl wore the strangest clothing either had seen. Large, baggy, black pants, with square pockets on the sides hung from her waist. The ends of the pants bunched slightly at her feet, and were tattered at the hem, dragging on the floor. Her shirt was a form-fitting blue shirt with straps instead of sleeves. Overtop she wore a large, cotton, blue-and-green checkered men's shirt. It reminded Watson of a logger.

She grinned wolfishly at them. The grin plainly scared Watson, the feral wildness in it was unnerving. Holmes face remained normal, but he inwardly shuddered at the sight.

"There's no need to stare, boys." The girl said, and walked to the table, sitting down. Her face resumed its placid, bored mask.

"Well then!" Ms. Hudson entered the room looking slightly frazzled.

"Can I make you anything?"

* * *

><p>The girl sat cross-legged in the chair, calmly sipping the tea as she watched them eat. Her wide eyes unnerved Watson, but Holmes appeared perfectly comfortable under her blank stare. He looked at her meeting the girl's eyes curiously.<p>

"I believe introductions are in order." Holmes said. The girl continued staring at him, then nodded slightly.

"This is my friend Dr. John Watson," Holmes gestured to him and the girl's eyes flickered to Watson for a moment, before returning to Holmes, "And I am Sherlock Holmes."

She did not react, her expression completely calm as she faced him. A ghost of a smile flashed over her face, before she set down her tea.

"I am Morivanion." she declared.

"Morivanion," Holmes repeated, "an interesting name." Morivanion twitched, anger flashing in her eyes before her expression, again, returned to the same passive boredom.

"First of all, I would like to know what you were doing outside on such a stormy evening." Holmes began. Morivanion looked down, her hands resting in her lap. She didn't speak.

"We aren't going to hurt you." Watson comforted. Morivanion remained silent.

"Nobody is going to hurt you," Watson repeated, leaning forward, "I _promise_."

Morivanion continued her silence. The men exchanged glanced, and Holmes stood up.

"Watson, perhaps you would go to your practice and get the necessary supplies to splint her wrist." Holmes said. Watson looked surprised.

"I guess." He stuttered, rising. Holmes walked behind him to the door, and shut it behind the doctor.

He waited several seconds, as Watson's footsteps descended into silence.

"Well then Morivanion," He turned back to face her, "why don't you speak?"

Morivanion was tense. Her hands shook slightly in her lap.

Holmes strode over to her a roughly turned the chair to the side. He then grabbed another chair and dragged it in front of her. Holmes leaned forward and whispered.

"I've heard of you, _Morvanië._" He whispered hurriedly.

"Darkness-beauty;" She said suddenly, and looked up at him, "You called me darkness-beauty. My name is black beauty, Morivanion." Morivanion stared at him, her gaze blank and confused.

"Allow me to call you Mori," Holmes said, standing up, "for the sake of brevity." Mori stared at him, her eyes following his movements.

He walked behind her to grab something. Mori waited patiently. Holmes slapped down an old newspaper on the table beside her. Mori looked up at him questioningly.

"Please read." Holmes told her. Mori leaned to the side and looked at it. Her eyes moved back and forth as she skimmed the page quietly. Holmes sat back down in the chair and waited, brooding.

The girl pushed away the paper and looked back at him.

"I fail to see what point you are trying to make Holmes." She said blankly. Holmes raised an eyebrow, curious.

"This," He gestured to the newspaper, "is one of the works of the fifth most dangerous criminal..." Holmes paused as his gaze darkened, "_Morvanië._"

Mori stared at him, then her glance flickered to the newspaper and back. Her gaze turned hard.

"I see." She said coldly.

"You believe me to be," Mori gestured wildly at the newspaper, "'The terrible, cold-blooded murderer' who 'slaughtered most of the village in cold blood, sparing no man, woman or child'?" She quoted the paper.

"You are most definitely Icelandic." Holmes commented darkly.

"Yes," Mori raised her hands, "Shoot me, but I come from Iceland."

"Am I not correct, that the infamous _Morvanië _came to the home of two innocent Londoners today, and tried to kill them?" Holmes asked. Mori fixed him with her glare.

"No." She said shortly.

"_First,_" Mori hissed, "_Morvanië _has not failed so far. I see no reason why they would now.

"_Second,_" Mori hissed again, "_I am not Morvanië._"

Holmes smirked.

"So you say." He told her. Mori sucked in a breath, shutting her eyes. Her breathing returned normal, that is to say, so faint she looked like a statue. Mori opened her eyes, her gaze filled with cold anger. Most would shiver, the anger was not fire, but more like a stabbing sharp glare that pierced through your soul. Holmes, despite the flicker of surprise in his eyes, smirked challengingly.

They locked gazes and remained that way for several minutes.

* * *

><p>"Good afternoon." Watson shut the door behind him and frowned. The atmosphere felt cold, filled with tension. He turned around.<p>

Morivanion sat at the dinner table, staring at the wall, while Holmes gazed out the window across the room. The two appeared remarkably similar. However, where Holmes appeared to have a goal in mind, Morivanion stared blankly at the wall. For a second, Watson wondered if she was sane.

"Good afternoon, Watson;" Holmes said, and turned back to look at him, "Morivanion will take your old room for the duration of her stay. I am certain Ms. Hudson will take care of her needs." He said. Watson shifted awkwardly in the doorway.

"I'll leave you to practice your trade; I have some business to see to." Holmes said, walking towards Watson. He grabbed his hat and coat and walked towards Watson. Watson stepped aside and Holmes bumped him whispering _be careful, John_ in his ear. The detective strode out of the flat, his face cold and angry.

Watson sighed as he pulled the door shut behind himself, for the second time.

"What did you say to him?" He asked Morivanion. She didn't answer, staring blankly out the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Watson looked at her quizzically for a moment, then sighed as he set down his back.

Watson pulled off his coat, and took off his hat.

"_Morvanië,_" Morivanion whispered, then louder, "I told him I was not his 'mysterious killer'." Morivanion hugged her knees to her chest, her eyes never leaving the window.

"Mysterious killer?" John questioned softly, hanging up his coat. Morivanion didn't respond. He picked up his bag and walked to her side. John looked down at the strange girl, then at the window. It was a blur, the rain pouring down the glass like a raging river. The patter was audible. She sighed, but whether from exhaustion or annoyance he could not tell.

She appeared so sad. Her silence certainly held more than thought. It was true, Holmes would often lapse into long silences himself, however Morivanion seemed to be dwelling on some sad event, rather than being absorbed in thought.

Watson stepped back to observe her. There was little to be learned from her clothes, strange, though, they were. Her eyes were slightly watery, and bags hung under their icy-blue. A faint scar cut into one jaw, and her lips were chapped. She was pale, from what could be from both malnutrition and the natural tone of her skin. Her arms were thin, and Watson could clearly count her ribs under the baggy clothing.

Straggly locks of light brown, almost blonde hair curled at her shoulders. Her face had a soft structure, that of a person from Asia, though her body clearly said she was at least half European.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, causing the girl to tense briefly, and squeezed. John wasn't sure why, but he felt the need to comfort the girl. She seemed so sad, so dead… as if she was sapped of life. The aura of loneliness and sadness laid heavily on his heart, and weighted the air around him.

John set his bag on the table quietly, and began to take out his things in silence. He couldn't explain it, but he almost felt as if it would be disrespectful to break the silence that lay around her. When he stopped, he looked at her, afraid to break her trance.

Morivanion stretched out her arm, resting it on the table. White patches of skin were faintly visible despite the pallid tone of the rest. He bandaged it in silence, wrapping the gauze around it then splinting it with a cast. He looked back at her to see a tear run down her jaw and drop onto a knee.

"Are you alright?" John asked, concerned. Morivanion didn't respond, in a state of melancholy numbness.

"You… you remind me of someone," She said haltingly, then swallowed, "someone I used to know."

"A friend?" John couldn't stop himself from asking. The girl tensed then pulled her arm away from him. John mentally cursed himself for his stupidity.

"Yes;" Morivanion spoke softly, "I suppose you could call them that."

"_If such a thing truly exists._" She muttered under her breath. He chose to ignore her statement.

John waited patiently. When she didn't respond, he asked again.

"What happened to them?" He asked. Morivanion tensed, and for a moment, seemed as though she wouldn't respond. She relaxed and John let out a breath of air.

"He-" she stopped at the sound of Ms. Hudson's footsteps in the stairwell, "He died."

"Oh," John looked down, "I'm sorry." He knew he was being over familiar towards her, but honestly. The girl looked like she needed some comfort. _You have my condolences_ sounded to formal and distant for the moment.

"It is fine;" sighed Morivanion, "he died a long time ago." John didn't speak. What was he supposed to say? How could he console her now?

"He was a doctor, as you are." Morivanion said in a far-away voice.

"Then, he-" Morivanion choked on her words and swallowed as tears poured down her face, "one night…" She didn't finish the sentence. John stood awkwardly as the girl shook with sobs. He cursed himself for his stupidity and knelt beside her. John wasn't particularly good with crying women, few men were, but after debating for a moment, he decided to hug her.

"There, there." He said, consoling her like he would any client who had bad news. The girl sobbed quietly in his arms. John was at a loss for how to comfort her, she didn't seem to stop.

"What was he like?" It was a long shot, but she might be happier if she could remember him in life, rather in death.

"His name was Glaurúan Hellchir," The girl choked out a small laugh, then became sobered, "He was a surgeon and a barber. He was always looking out for his customers, helping them out whenever he could. He was the heart of our community." Morivanion fell silent, brooding. John awkwardly let go of her.

"Where you come from?" He asked.

"Reykjavik, Iceland." She replied, calmly.

"Iceland?" John asked, sitting down in the chair opposite her. Morivanion went coldly silent. She glared at him, her icy stare sending shivers down John's spine.

Watson decided he would leave her. He stood up, and moved to the other side of the room, unconsciously standing in the exact spot Holmes had before him. The irony was not lost on Morivanion, though, and she took it as a sign, she was right to stop speaking.

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><p><strong>Hey there again!<strong>

**Did you like the chapter? I used elvish from lord of the rings for their names, haven't decided if they're lotr folk yet, probably will be though.**** Anyways, here's the translations:  
>Glaurúan- Golden Monster<br>Hellchir****- naked master  
>Morivanion- Black Beauty<br>Morvanië- Darkness Beauty  
><strong>


	3. Chapter 3: fjölskyldu og morðingjar

_**Someone who thinks the world is always cheating him is right. He is missing that wonderful feeling of trust in someone or something.**_

_**Eric Hoffer**_

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><p>Holmes looked at Mori, his gaze keenly observing her still form. He was curious.<p>

Throughout the day, Mori had spoken no more than five words to him (it was true, he had counted), thirteen to Ms. Hudson, and only one to Watson.

It was strange: although the girl was clearly more hostile and wary to him, she seemed to be forcefully pushing Watson away.

What could have happened in the short time he was gone? What did Watson learn?

However, that would have to wait. He could not leave Mori alone in his flat, and certainly not under the eye of Ms. Hudson. She was not inept at keeping an eye out, in fact she was quite good at it; however Mori was very distant towards the woman, and would most-assuredly escape as soon as she was able to.

Although it was not out of the question to let her try (where the girl would go would provide valuable clues about her) it was risky.

Mycroft had cautioned him about her, and had promised to find whatever he could on the girl. And besides, the girl was unlike any person he had met, and Holmes had determined to study her in order to find out more.

During her stay, Mori had proved to be curiously dull.

She had refused all food brought to her, even tea. It was clear that she needed food, and Watson had taken Holmes aside privately to confirm his suspicion that she was suffering from malnutrition.

Of course, not even Watson could force the girl to eat. The housekeeper and him were on the brink of prying open her mouth and shoving a piece of food down her throat, when Holmes intervened. He knew that forcing the girl to eat would not solve anything. In any case, the girl now owed him for the small favor.

One way or another, Holmes planned to pry her secrets out. Mori provided a unique challenge, and Holmes was not going to waste it. He hadn't had this good a mystery in a long time.

Flashing back to the present, the detective decided to make his move.

Holmes stood up and walked up behind the motionless girl. He smiled behind her, and she slightly tensed, the action barely noticeable to most, however the detective saw through it easily. Smiling to himself, he gripped her shoulder and jerked her against the back of the chair.

"That is a rather painful choice to make, Mori. Don't you think?" He asked, smile turning to a frown. Mori exhaled quietly and relaxed her grip on the knife. Holmes grabbed the knife and the girl tightened her grip on the blade. She hissed as it cut through her skin.

"Come now." Holmes consoled and pried the blade out of her fingers. He examined it as Mori looked down at her now bleeding hand.

"Well?" Mori looked up at him, annoyance showing in her voice.

"Where did you get such a remarkable weapon?" Holmes inquired. Mori watched him as he examined the small knife.

It was a small weapon, the blade no longer than Holmes's thumb. It was made of white ivory, however pointed and extremely sharp. The handle was wrapped in white, soft leather. What caught Holmes' interest though, were the runes carved on the blade.

"I got it from a friend." She said angrily. Holmes glanced at her skeptically.

"I would ask for the truth Mori," He said with a small smile, Mori looked away from he detective, "I myself have not lied to you. Why do you lie to me in return?" Mori focused straight ahead, her eyes determinedly fixed on the now dark window. Holmes moved to the chair in front of her, fixing her with his stare.

He smirked and bent the thin blade in his hands; Mori flinched.

"You wouldn't dare." Said Mori quickly. Holmes stopped bending the knife.

"Wouldn't I?" He asked, watching her closely. Mori's hands shook slightly, before they stilled, tense. She appeared worried and afraid behind her mask. Holmes noticed this, and he added it to the information he had already collected.

"I propose a trade," He said slowly; "yours and your parents' names for the knife." Mori swallowed, tensing. She looked up at him, and her eyes widened to a blank, empty stare. Holmes frowned, but held her stare challengingly. Mori did not react for a few seconds, and then shivered.

"I do not think you can stare me down." Holmes told her. Mori blinked, and her eyes returned to their normal, human grey. She stared at him serenely.

"You won't break the knife." Mori said slowly, as if the words pained her. Triumph flashed in Holmes' eyes briefly.

"I will tell you of my father," Mori continued, then bit her lip, pausing, "What do you wish to know?"

"What is his name?" Holmes questioned.

"He goes by Glaurúan Hellchir, however he is legally Haukur Ingvason;" Mori said; "He is a doctor in Reykjavik."

"I see;" Holmes leaned forward, curious, "and who was he _really_ Mori?" The girl shivered under his gaze.

"Maglor," she stuttered, "He was also called Macalaurë and Canafinwë.

"Glaurúan was my stepfather."

"And where is Maglor?" Holmes asked her.

"As far as I know he's dead;" Mori's voice was eerily calm, "Haukur is dead as well."

"What of your mother?" Holmes asked.

"She walked out twelve years ago." Mori told him.

"Whom have you been living with since?" Holmes questioned. Mori looked up at him, opening her mouth. No words came out. Holmes locked gazes with her as Mori shut her mouth.

The door opened suddenly, and Ms. Hudson walked into the room. Holmes looked up, and saw the tray she carried.

"Ms. Hudson," He said rising, "you shouldn't have troubled yourself."

"I figured you'd be up late." She said, setting the tray down. On it was few biscuits, a cup of coffee, and a steaming cup of tea. It was clear whom it was for.

"You are too kind." Mori said tersely, still staring straight ahead.

"It's the least I could do dear." Ms. Hudson responded, ignoring the back-off tone. Her eyes were sympathetic. Holmes glanced at Mori, then moved to Ms. Hudson.

"Molly and I have things to discuss." He gestured to the door. Ms. Hudson looked startled, then glanced at Mori. Her gaze softened and the woman backed out of the door.

Holmes shut it behind her, and waited for the woman's steps to fade into silence. He turned back to Mori.

The girl stared at the wall blankly, however, there was a certain intensity to her stare; Holmes didn't doubt she was thinking. About what though, was the question. He walked back to the table and glanced down at the tray.

Holmes pushed the tray towards her, "You should eat."

"I'm indebted far too much to Ms. Hudson already;" Mori said softly, looking at Holmes, "I could not pay her back: now, or ever."

"She does not view it as a debt. Doubtless anyone would have done the same." Holmes commented. Mori ignored him, continuing her silence.

"I would not consider it a debt," Holmes told her, "since she does not." No response.

"Starvation will not help you."

Mori stared at him for a few seconds, then reached out for the teacup. Holmes handed it to her. She held it in her hands for a second, staring at the steam. The heat did not seem to affect her.

Mori opened her eyes, and slid the tray towards her, slightly wincing at the sound. She set down the teacup, then took the lid off the sugar. Grabbing the spoon, she poured one, two, three spoonfuls of sugar into her tea. She swirled it around quietly, not clinking the spoon against the china.

After that, she set down the spoon and raised it to take a sip. Holmes coolly watched her every second. Mori set it down.

"You drugged it." She stated calmly, her eyes widening. Holmes nodded at her.

"You do not look the type to sleep easily." He told her. A faint smile flashed on Mori's lips.

"And you could not leave the flat without me properly knocked out." She told him. Mori's head nodded forward, and she fell off the chair with a crash. Holmes watched as her body relaxed into unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>"Good evening."<p>

Mori's eyes flickered open at the sound of Holmes's voice. She stared at the ceiling, eyes tired.

"Damn you." Mori said indifferently.

"Well;" She asked irritably, "what was so important you had to knock me out before leaving the flat?"

"I had to follow a lead." Holmes told her. Mori sighed.

"Questions?" she asked annoyed. Holmes looked at her strangely.

"Meh. Is Watson here?" Mori changed the subject.

"Meh?" Holmes asked.

"Answer the question, I'm not in the mood." Mori demanded.

"Watson is not here yet."

Mori grunted in response and sat up. Swinging her legs over the bed she stood up, slouching. Holmes followed her out of the room, and into the living room.

The girl was clearly tired. Pale lavender bags hung under her eyes. Her movements were slow and fumbling, she slouched with exhaustion.

Mori walked to the armchair and sat down in it. She curled up, holding her knees close to her chest.

"Have you seen the paper?" Holms asked, picking it up. Mori shot the detective a glare.

"As you well know, I certainly have not." The girl replied obstinately. Holmes handed her the paper.

Mori's eyes widened, and she hurriedly read the page, titled _Infamous Icelandic murderer comes to London_.

Holmes watched, as her face changed from extreme focus, to horror, to worry, then annoyance. She tossed the paper aside, and muttered something in Icelandic under her breath.

"The damn idiots don't know what they're dealing with."

Holmes looked at her curiously.

"Then what am I dealing with, _Morvanië_?" Holmes taunted. The ghost of a smile flickered on the girl's face.

"You'll never let that go now, will you?" Mori asked. Holmes did not respond.

"The incident is as clear-cut as he could make it. Clearly-"

"He?" Holmes interrupted her. An emotion, though the detective could not tell what, flashed briefly in Mori's eyes, before she reined herself in.

"It is so very obvious what happened I could recite it like a nursery rhyme." Mori continued, her voice not quite pulling off the same affect as before. Holmes took a seat beside her, leaning back, a smile on his face. He knew he had won this round.

"Morvanië enters the bar. The men ignore him, though he sets them on edge. Sitting down at the bar, he orders a strong beer from the bar-man. Upon bringing it to him, the Bar-man comments on his foreign accent.

"Morvanië asks him to put Arsenic in the beer. He then insults the bar-man badly. The others in the bar listen, very likely get involved. At some point, it comes to a regular, old-fashioned brawl. Morvanië kills all. He goes in the back and takes whatever poison he can find from the back of the bar. He sprinkles it all over the scene. Then he takes a swig of beer, carves his name into the bar, and leaves." Morivanion finishes. Holmes smiles, his eyes flashing with curiosity.

"You are remarkable informed." The detective commented. Mori's eyes lay shut, and she tiredly stirred.

"It would be virtually impossible to leave the flat under such a powerful drug. Help me to bed, I grow weary." Holmes looked at her curiously. To trust him among the others was… strange. Flattering, however a move unlike her usual self. That could lead to the conclusion that she is in a desperate or compromising situation. Which would also mean that she is Morvanië. Holmes frowned as he helped the girl up.

Morivanion was clearly worried about something, yet if she was Morvanië, than there came the question of how she escaped the flat. The Morphine dose knocked her out cold, and Holmes had not left her for a second unsupervised. The only other possibility would be that she knows Morvanië, a conclusion that would make sense considering the similarity between their names. However, Morivanion could also be simply concerned for the victims. She had not shown an Eleemosynary nature during his stay, however she hadn't portrayed the opposite. It was more likely she leaned towards being un-humanitarian, however the extent of this was a more sketchy.

This small, strange girl had given him much to think about.


	4. Chapter 4: Rænt

**If war comes upon us, it will come as a thief in the night.  
><strong>_**Eamon de Valera**_

* * *

><p>A loud crash sounded from the other room. Watson jumped up and rushed through the doorway. Holmes lay on the floor on top of a cupboard that had been toppled over. A purple bruise showed on his forehead. His shoulder was cut, and a stab wound stained his right-thigh red. The detective dropped the knife. Watson rushed to his side, helping him sit up.<p>

"Are there any bones broken?" Watson asked.

"No, I think not;" Holmes replied calmly, "I was surprised and caught off guard. Morvanië is cunning."

"Surprised?" asked Watson, shocked.

"Indeed; but first, Watson, you should get your bag." Holmes said with a smile. Watson's eyes showed amazement briefly, but he left quickly. In a moment, the man had returned with his bag and knelt at Holmes' side.

"What happened to you?" The doctor asked. Holmes smiled.

"I was taken by surprise, by a boy. He came through the fire escape, and attacked me viciously. After managing to knock me out, he left with Morivanion." Holmes said.

"They were remarkably similar in appearance; I would guess he was Morivanion's twin." The detective fell silent, brooding quietly.

"Her twin? But that would mean-"

"Yes, Watson, Morivanion is related to a killer." Holmes told him. Silence fell, as other things were implied by his tone.

"Oh my goodness!" Mrs. Hudson appeared in the doorway, hand over her mouth. "Are you alright?"

"Mrs. Hudson, perhaps you would be so good to ring the police. I am quite alright." Holmes told her. The woman stared at him for a moment, then opened her mouth to ask,

"Where is she?"

"Kidnapped, Mrs. Hudson, our guest has been kidnapped. Now would you please ring the police?" Holmes told the woman coldly. Surprise showed on Mrs. Hudson's face, before she walked away.

The detective slowly stood up, slowly with Watson's help. He leaned heavily on the doctor.

"You should sit down." Watson told him.

"I do not have a concussion, Watson, and would you please escort me to the living room." Replied the detective. Watson sighed, but did as he asked.

* * *

><p>"<em>Tirlith, Tirlith- <em>_Odulen an edraith anlen. Odulen an le meriad._" Mori looked up at the boy above her.

"Morvanië…" she said, a tear streaked down her face, "_Nin gwerianneg. Gi fuion._"

"Tirlith, _Le melin. Len iallon, díheno nin._" The boy, Morvanië, told her.

Mori looked away from him. Morvanië pleaded with her in 3 languages: Icelandic, English and again in the strange sing-song language he had spoken in.

However, despite his pleading, Mori did not reply. She did not look at him, could not look at him. Hours passed, and by then Morvanië simply sat with her, silent with a wounded look in his eyes.

It was well into the evening when Mori replied in a quiet voice:

"There is no one who I loathe more than you and your kind."

Morvanië looked at her, anger flashing in his eyes.

"_Muinthel, _you will not see London again, alive."

* * *

><p><em>Tirlith, Tirlith- <em>_Odulen an edraith anlen. Odulen an le meriad._- (Tirlith, Tirlith, I came to save you. I came to protect you.)

_Nin gwerianneg. Gi fuion._- (You betrayed me. I hate you.)

Tirlith, _Le melin. Len iallon, díheno nin._- (Tirlith, I love you. I beg you, forgive me.)


End file.
